History
by Filthy Bunny
Summary: Pre-series. The first night Sam and G spend together. Set just before Sam is deployed to Afghanistan on assignment, as mentioned in the season one episode 'Past Lives'.


A/N: Hey all! Rather than update one of my existing fics, I thought I'd post up the start of yet another one just to make life harder for myself. This isn't actually new, I've been working on it for a while alongside my others. Just wanted to say a big THANK YOU to everyone reading my stuff and for the adds, faves and kind reviews I've had for Alias, A-Z and so on. :3 I'm very happy that Sam and G have more fans out there who want them to do naughty naked things together. And speaking of fans, don't forget my fan forum at ncisla. freeforums .org! Season finale tomorrow, EEK.

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><p><strong>HISTORY <strong>by Filthy Bunny

**Chapter One: Call of Duty**

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><p>After winning a fifth consecutive game of pool, Callen decided to call it quits. Normally he and Sam were fiercely competitive, and after a few drinks they would be slinging friendly insults back and forth across the table while stacking up impossible wagers. But tonight Sam was detached and unresponsive, barely concentrating on his shots and giving his partner the distinct advantage. An effortless victory was no fun at all, so Callen suggested they retire to the bar.<p>

Whatever weight was resting on Sam's shoulders seemed to grow even heavier as he sat beside Callen. While G filled the silence with small talk, Sam stared down into his drink and chewed his lower lip distractedly. Eventually Callen nudged him with an elbow to break the trance.

"Come on, buddy," he coaxed. "It won't be that bad, right? You must know Afghanistan as well as your own back yard by now."

They had until now been avoiding the subject of Sam's imminent deployment to the Middle East. He was to head an emergency team tasked with hunting down a network of mobile bases that were recruiting and equipping Taliban fighters. The orders had come in earlier that day, giving Sam only twenty-four hours to prepare before flying out to the Bagram airbase north of Kabul. The mobile units had been all but invisible until now, and scale of the enemy operation was unknown, although new intel suggested it may extend into the production of biological and chemical weapons. For this reason Director Morrow had warned that the mission may take several months. Sam had left headquarters early to get his personal affairs in order, after first arranging to meet Callen and the rest of the team for drinks that evening.

The others had already headed home for the night after bidding Sam their goodbyes and best wishes, and left him and Callen to their one-sided pool tournament. Sam's mask of cheerfulness had soon slipped.

"It'll be fine," he said in reply to Callen's comment. "I'm just not thrilled about being dragged back there."

Callen nodded, swirling scotch around the bottom of his glass. "Is there something you haven't told me about the last time you were over there?"

Sam sighed and shook his head. "No. I'm not scared, G, if that's what you think."

"I know," Callen said gently. He hated it when Sam got defensive. He responded, as usual, with humour. "I guess you just can't bear the thought of not seeing my handsome face every day, right?"

Sam forced a laugh but failed to meet Callen's eyes. "I'll keep your photo close to my heart," he said.

"As long as it's not that one Macy took of me asleep in my car on stakeout in Pasadena," Callen said. "I swear you can actually see drool." Sam's laugh was less forced now. "But seriously," Callen went on, "You know I'm here. If you want to talk about it."

"Just drop it, G, okay?" Sam said, not unkindly. He seemed weary.

"Okay," Callen replied. He got the feeling Sam was preparing to make his excuses and leave once he finished this drink. The thought made G's heart lurch unexpectedly. He wasn't ready to say goodbye yet, especially while Sam was in such a lousy mood. Tomorrow Sam's seat in the op centre would be empty, and his best friend would be heading to the other side of the world. Although Macy and the rest of the team were becoming like a family to him, there was only one person Callen felt this close to.

_Who knows, he might not even make it back_, said a voice from a cold, dark place inside him. He felt an icy chill prickle the skin between his shoulder blades, and quashed the thought immediately. He would _not_ let himself go there.

"You know what, the atmosphere here bites," Callen said. "You want to go somewhere else?" He knew it was selfish of him to try and keep Sam out longer, but he was determined not to let the evening end here. He wanted more time with his friend. And surely Sam deserved to be cheered up before he left.

Sam looked up from his glass. "Such as?"

"I don't know, somewhere with fresh air. The pier? Moonlit walk on the beach?"

Sam's smile was genuine this time, and the sight made Callen smile reflexively in return. He realised that he, like Sam, had been frowning until then. He wondered when their moods had become so well synchronised.

Sam shrugged. "I have some beers at my place that need drinking," he said. "We can sit out back and drink a toast to... I don't know, Los Angeles. Kabul."

"War and peace?" Callen suggested.

"I'll sure as hell drink to peace."

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><p>A little while later they sat on the steps behind Sam's house, listening to the muted night-time sounds of the neighbourhood. The weight hadn't lifted from Sam's shoulders, but he was visibly more relaxed. The night was warm enough for them to sit comfortably in shirt sleeves, nursing cold beers.<p>

"I guess we should drink that toast," Callen said, and lifted his bottle towards Sam. "To Kabul."

"Yeah. Fucking Kabul," Sam muttered. He raised his own drink. "To LA, and the lucky bastards who get to keep enjoying her while I'm eating sand with the Marines."

"Hey, maybe you'll get lucky and _we'll_ be the ones who get blown up. Nowhere's safe these days."

"If you're trying to make me feel better, you suck at it," Sam replied. But he was smiling.

"So, d'you want me to swing by and bring in your mail? Water the plants?"

"No offence, G, but I think my plants will be better off without your intervention. You don't strike me as the green-fingered type."

"I like plants," Callen protested.

"Since when?"

"Since always. I just don't have the space to keep any."

"You could if you wanted it," said Sam. "You could get a place with a nice big lawn, some flower beds, maybe a few hanging baskets." He patted G on the back. "Something you could _nurture_ and _commit_ to," he teased. He had known Callen long enough to understand that permanence, at least in a home context, was like G's personal kryptonite. Sam knew there must be a deep-rooted issue underlying it, probably related to the childhood of transition that G occasionally brought up in conversation, but they were comfortable enough for Sam to be able to rib him about it too.

"Yeah... I guess I'm more of an _indoor_ plants kind of guy," Callen said, gazing off into the hazy twilight that hung over the city.

Sam laughed. "Well, anyway, thank you for the offer, G, but I already asked someone to look in on the place."

Callen shrugged and drank from his bottle. "Your loss," he said. "I bring in mail like a pro."

"More like _your_ loss," Sam countered. "You just want to come round and watch my TV."

G gave him a sidelong glance. "It is a damn fine TV."

"Yeah, and if I don't get to enjoy it, neither do you. I guess I'm just bitter like that."

It was just their regular banter, of course. As Callen went back to staring off into the distance, Sam eyed him and wondered if he should offer to let G stay in the house while he was away. G's current residence was a gloomy, featureless studio apartment that offered views of a garbage-strewn vacant lot and the brick wall of an adjacent building. It would be nice for him to crash somewhere more comfortable and homely for a change. Sam was generally protective of his home, his private space, and he would have offered very few people such an invitation. But somehow the thought of Callen using the house was comforting. Sam himself would be on the move for the months to come, and could find himself resting his head amidst the noise and dust of a US military camp one night, under the stars in the Hindu-Kush mountains the next. Picturing Callen returning here every day after work, sitting on Sam's couch, watching Sam's TV, even sleeping in Sam's bed – might provide a mental anchor, something to help to soothe the pain Sam was already feeling at their imminent separation.

He forcibly shut down that particular train of thought, irritated with himself. Callen was his partner and friend, nothing more, and he didn't owe Sam that kind of solace. If he was hurting at the prospect of being removed from Callen's side, then that was his problem alone, _his_ stupid fault for harbouring the secret wish that their relationship could ever go beyond the solid partnership it was now.

Callen went inside to use the bathroom and fetch more beers from the kitchen. Alone on the porch steps, Sam stared out at the familiar LA skyline, knowing he'd be missing it soon enough. All the while he repeated the same mantra in his head._ Just partners. Just friends. Just partners..._

There was no way of knowing if Callen even knew that Sam was gay. G had never directly asked Sam if he was married or otherwise attached. Sam knew that G was single, and that he liked women, but he didn't know if his partner was straight to the core or if he swung both ways. He had caught the occasional sign that the latter was true, but that could just be his wishful thinking. Anyway, it was something they didn't talk about. Callen was a professional, and agents in their field respected one another's need for a private life that was completely separate from their work. He was also, however, an excellent observer, so it was possible that he had picked up enough of Sam's unconscious cues to know his sexual orientation. Perhaps he even knew that he was the object of Sam's affections. If he did know, he gave nothing away and treated Sam the same way he always had. But again, Callen was a professional.

Of course Sam was a professional too; he knew his boundaries. He had never acted on his attraction to Callen and never planned to. He didn't flirt. But he hardly felt like a pro when he got butterflies in his stomach imagining G sleeping between his sheets, keeping house for him like a sweetheart waiting back home.

Sam sighed. Maybe this assignment was for the best. Maybe getting away from Callen was exactly what he needed to get over his fixation.


End file.
